


Nothing to regret

by Sermocinare



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, Enjolras has second thoughts about everything, M/M, Regrets, it ends in fluff, lots of snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of this would have happened if Enjolras hadn't gotten drunk with Grantaire, of all people. Then again, maybe it had been a good idea after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Less thinking, more drinking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend who prompted me with Enjolras/Grantaire, drunk sex, regrets and a happy ending. And of course 15 minutes late with Starbucks.

In the end, it all came down to the fact that Enjolras didn't drink. Not much, anyway, keeping his alcohol consumption down to the occasional beer or wine at parties. 

It was a gloriously warm, sunny Wednesday in mid-June. Not that Enjolras would have noticed much, seeing how he was walking around in his own storm front that would have put a Midwest tornado to shame. The others were already gathered in the back room of the Musain, the coffee shop and bar that was the usual meeting place for their little group of friends. A lot of them, like Enjolras, were politically active on campus, either as members of the student parliament or in various clubs and organizations that were dedicated to social change, both in and off campus. 

Joly, Bousset and Feulli were halfway through completely humiliating Marius in a game of cards, with Courfeyrac watching and giving the occasional comment, which had everyone laughing, including poor Marius. 

Enjolras let himself fall down into a chair next to Combeferre. His friend had had his nose buried in today's paper, but immediately looked up. 

“I take it the meeting with the dean didn't go well?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow. 

“No, it didn't,” Enjolras replied, running a hand through his hair before giving an angry sigh. “He's not budging an inch.”

All eyes were on him now, the card game and various conversations immediately forgotten. Only Grantaire was still nursing his beer. 

“Well, fuck,” Bahorel said, summing everyone's thoughts up nicely. 

Enjolras smirked. “Agreed. Not that I'd had much hope of him actually letting us go ahead with it, seeing how scared he is of offending that bunch of conservative money-grubbers that call themselves alumni. He might as well tie some strings to his arms and legs so that they can puppet him around even more effectively.”

“So, what are we going to do now?” Combeferre let his gaze wander through the room, finally settling back on Enjolras. 

“I've got half a mind to go ahead with it anyway.”

Grantaire snorted: “One would think you're in love with the head of campus security, seeing how often you get yourself arrested and dragged to his office.”

Courfeyrac's elbow shot out, nudging Grantaire in the side, and Enjolras saw him mouthing something that looked like “shut up” while giving Grantaire an imploring look. 

Enjolras didn't even grace that comment with a reply, but instead turned to the group as a whole: “I'm not inclined to just let this go. This is important, and we can't back down now just because the authorities want us to shut up.”

“Maybe we can take it off-campus?” Courfeyrac suggested. 

“That's certainly a possibility,” Combeferre said with a nod, “but I think we should make some further efforts to sway the dean's opinion first. After all, this is a campus affair.”

“Maybe if we get enough support from the student body, so that the dean has no choice but let us go ahead with it if he doesn't want an even bigger problem on his hands?” Jehan piped up, tapping his pen against the sheet of paper in front of him. “It's a given that I'll write about it in the next issue of The Barricade. And maybe I can get an article in the other student papers as well. That should get us some publicity.”

“That's a good idea.” Enjolras nodded. “We need a new plan of attack here. See if we can't get those who usually just stand by engaged.”

“What you need,” Grantaire said, leaning back in his chair and grinning, “is a drink or two. I mean, look at yourself. You're so tense, I can hear you grinding your teeth from back here.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes: “Honestly, Grantaire.”

“You know,” Enjolras gave Grantaire a pensive look, then smirked, “that's the first good idea you've had in weeks. I really do feel like a drink or two.”

“Enjolras, it's five in the afternoon!” Joly was obviously aghast, looking at Enjolras as if their leader had just sprouted horns and a tail. 

Enjolras gave him a withering look: “I know perfectly well what time it is, Joly. And I feel like having a drink. That, or kicking something.”

“I'll get us something from the bar, then.” Grantaire stood up, his grin even wider than before. Only two minutes later, he returned with two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila: “I figured you needed something stronger than beer.”

Enjolras didn't answer, filling both glasses before pushing one of them over the table towards the other man. Grantaire raised his glass in mock salute: “To the cause.” Enjolras didn't reply, downing his tequila instead. 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac said, the strange spectacle that was unwinding in front of their eyes having clearly thrown him off a bit, “if we want to get some more publicity, we should also try getting a few of the other groups on board.”

“Can you talk with the others on the student council, 'ferre?” Enjolras said, then smirked: “I'm afraid they won't listen to me. Too radical and all that.” He waved a hand dismissively.

“Sure.” Combeferre was eying his friend with obvious concern, but didn't say anything, knowing too well that opposition usually only served to make Enjolras even more hell-bent on whatever it was he was doing.

They spent some more time discussing strategy before going back to cards, newspapers and Courfeyrac's latest cause of heartbreak. By the time most of the Amis went home, Enjolras and Grantaire were at the half-mark of the bottle, with Enjolras feeling undeniably unsteady but, too his disappointment, not all that more relaxed. On the contrary, the booze seemed to have put him into an mood for even more rants than usual. Finally, Grantaire put the bottle down and pulled him out of his seat.

“Time to go, my friend. Seems like you're one of those people who get drunk but not happy drunk.”

“So much for your great ideas,” Enjolras mumbled.

Grantaire just shrugged: “You should've known better.”

They left the Musian, Grantaire still seeming admirably sober, and turned in the direction of the dormitories. The cool, fresh air made Enjolras' head clear a bit, but he still wasn't sure how they had ended up in front of Grantaire's tiny apartment. He had probably missed his turn somewhere. 

“Come on, I'll make us some coffee,” Grantaire said, unlocking the door and giving Enjolras a slightly tipsy smile. “You look like you need some so you can remember where you live.”

Enjolras gave a derisive snort: “I know where I live.” 

Still, he followed Grantaire inside. The room was as chaotic as he had always imagined it to be, with clothes and books and sketches piling up on every available surface. He looked around, searching for some place to sit down while Grantaire busied himself in the small kitchen, and finally decided that the pile of stuff on the swivel chair in front of what was probably a desk was easiest to move. 

Carefully, Enjolras piled the stack of books and papers on top of another stack that was resting on the desk, creating a precariously swaying tower of novels, biographies and paperbacks. The last one was a sketchbook, and Enjolras started to idly flip through it while he sat himself down on the chair. You had to hand it to Grantaire, even though he was a nuisance and a boozer, he was a really talented artist. His favorite medium seemed to be charcoal, and Enjolras quickly became mesmerized by the myriad of subjects that Grantaire had put in his sketchbook. There was a whole sheet covered in hands, old and young, an evocative sketch of the campus quad at lunch break, and... him. Enjolras blinked in surprise. Yes, that was definitely him. On several pages. His face at different angles, with different expressions, giving a speech, sitting in the Musain joking around with Courfeyrac... 

And suddenly, the sketches were gone, having been snatched up by Grantaire, who was pushing a mug of steaming hot black coffee into his hands before turning around and shoving the sketchbook underneath a pile of clothes, looking as flustered as if Enjolras had just found his porn collection. 

“You shouldn't snoop around in other people's stuff,” Grantaire muttered, pushing some clothes off the bed and sitting himself down. 

“Why not? They're very good. And you want to be an artist, don't you? So you're going to have to show your drawings to someone, eventually.”

“Yeah, but not those.” Grantaire pulled a frown. “Those are private.”

Enjolras raised his mug to his lips, contemplating Grantaire through the mists of steam that rose off the black surface. “Well I think I have a right to see them,” he finally said, his lips twitching into a wicked grin, “seeing how I'm on a lot of them.” 

Grantaire's ears actually turned red at that, and he looked away. “Still.”

There was a long silence while Enjolras sipped his coffee and Grantaire continued staring at a pair of socks on the floor as if he were seeing them for the fist time. 

“...are you in love with me, Grantaire?”

“No!”

“Liar.”

Enjolras wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that made him do it, or the way Grantaire was looking at him from the corners of his eyes, drunk and shy and pining. Either way, he put his mug on the floor, took two steps over to the bed, grabbed Grantaire's face in his hands and pressed his lips against Grantaire's. 

Grantaire gave a surprised noise, and for a short moment Enjolras thought he would pull back, but then Grantaire pressed into the kiss with a heated whimper. When Grantaire nipped at his lower lip, Enjolras took it at a sign to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue between the other man's lips, which opened without a moment's hesitation. 

By now, Grantaire's fingers were clenched into the fabric of Enjolras' shirt, fumbling and pulling until it came loose, giving Grantaire and opening to slide his hands underneath. Enjolras moaned, Grantaire's fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and moved his lips down over Grantaire's jawline, peppering kisses all along the way until he was halfway down Grantaire's neck, where he started sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. 

Grantaire, in response, arched his neck and sighed, his fingers raking over Enjolras' ribs. Enjolras dimly remembered someone saying that being really drunk inhibited one's arousal, but he sure as hell wasn't feeling it. Pushing Grantaire's collar out of the way, he sought out Grantaire's collar bone and let his tongue trace its shape before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Oh, fuck, Enjolras.” Moving back a bit, Grantaire gave him a grin before pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. He then attempted to do the same with Enjolras' shirt, but only ended up snapping off two buttons before Enjolras caught his wrists, pushed him away and did it himself. 

For a short moment, Grantaire just stared at him, his eyes wide and his lips half opened, as if Enjolras was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his whole life. Then he moved in again, licking at Enjolras' sternum before homing in on Enjolras' nipple. 

Enjolras gave a sharp hiss and slid his fingers into Grantaire's dark curls. Why had he never done this before? ...oh, yeah, because this was Grantaire, who was annoying, cynical to the point of being nihilistic and Jesus Christ did he look good with his shirt off. Enjolras pushed one of his hands down over the back of Grantaire's neck, following the line of his spine, which got him a strangled moan from Grantaire, still busy with tonguing Enjolras' nipple. 

Enjolras spread his fingers, his hand exploring all of Grantaire's back, the little bumps of his spine and curves of his shoulder blades. 

Meanwhile, Grantaire was moving down over Enjolras' body, placing a line of hot, sucking kisses all down towards Enjolras' navel, at which point he slid off the bed, pushing Enjolras' legs apart before kneeling down between them. 

Leaning back on his elbows, Enjolras looked down at Grantaire, watching as Grantaire fumbled with the buttons on Enjolras' jeans and laughing when Grantaire started cursing whoever it had been who had made these things so damn hard to open. As soon as he had overcome that obstacle, though, Enjolras helpfully lifted his hips while Grantaire pulled down Enjolras' pants and boxers in one hectic movement. You had to hand it to Grantaire, when he did put his mind on something, he was amazingly focused, even when he was thoroughly sloshed. 

And those people who had said that thing about alcohol and sex really did have it totally wrong. He was half-hard already, and it took only a few licks from Grantaire's tongue before he was completely erect, at which point Grantaire took him in his mouth. 

“Shit, Grantaire, you really don't waste any time, do you?” Enjolras moaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. 

Grantaire just chuckled, sending some utterly amazing vibrations down Enjolras' cock. 

For a while, Enjolras just stayed the way he was, eyes closed and simply enjoying the sensation of Grantaire's hot, hungry mouth moving up and down over his length, Grantaire's tongue occasionally swirling around its head. 

After a while, though, he felt himself getting dizzy, and he sat up again, looking at Grantaire and oh shit did Grantaire look sexy, lips wrapped around Enjolras' cock, his eyes closed and his whole expression radiating pure bliss. Enjolras moaned, pushing one hand into Grantaire's hair and threading his fingers through the curls. 

Grantaire opened his eyes and looked up at Enjolras through his lashes, smiling at him with his eyes. Then, Grantaire reached down, pushing one hand down the front of his own pants, stroking himself in time with the movements of his head, and that sight alone was almost enough to make Enjolras come. 

In the end, it was Grantaire who got there first, but only by a few moments, whimpering around Enjolras' cock and looking so wanton and happy that Enjolras just couldn't, tipping his head back with a deep, drawn-out moan as he came. 

Panting, Enjolras collapsed back onto the bed, his head swimming from both the alcohol and Grantaire's blowjob, sighing when Grantaire finally pulled back and crawled onto the bed next to him. 

“So you're not in love with me, huh?”

Grantaire kissed him, and if he hadn't just come, Enjolras would have gotten hard again from that kiss, tasting himself on Grantaire's tongue. 

“No, you drunk idiot. I'm not. I always give guys blowjobs when I invite them over for coffee.” Grantaire's voice, even though it was slurred, was still able to carry enough sarcasm to remind Enjolras why he had thought he didn't like the guy, who was always either making fun of him or trying to derail any argument Enjolras put forth. 

But when he turned his head to look at Grantaire, the scathing remark that was on his tongue got stuck on the way out, because Grantaire was looking at him with a love and devotion that Enjolras would have never thought the other man capable of. 

For a while, both of them didn't move, just lying there looking at each other, until the silence turned somewhat awkward. 

“...you still want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Grantaire got up, picking up both of their mugs on his way to the kitchen, where he poured out the cold coffee into the sink before filling them again. 

“Here you go.”


	2. I regret... everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt, talk to Combeferre

The next morning, Enjolras woke up to what must have been the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. His head was throbbing, the light that fell through the window way too bright, and his stomach rebelled at the mere thought of breakfast. 

He downed two aspirin and decided that no, this was not a day for early lectures. Looking at his phone, he had missed half of them already anyway. Which had earned him three text messages, ranging in tone from schadenfreude (Bahorel, the bastard) and amused concern (Courfeyrac, bless him) and a reprimanding told-you-you-shouldn't-do-that ('ferre, who had, indeed, told him so). 

No message from Grantaire. 

Grantaire. Oh, fuck. The people seemed to be wrong about pretty much every aspect of being drunk, because contrary to conventional wisdom, Enjolras could remember every detail, and what yesterday night had seemed like a good idea was now, well, not a happy memory. At least people were right about the part where alcohol made you do things you would never do sober. 

Like kissing the drunk, head over hells in love with you Grantaire, and then letting him suck you off. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Enjolras let himself fall back into his couch, groaning. Why on earth had he done that? Grantaire was the last person he wanted to have any kind of sex with. Really, positively, no fucking way. A tiny voice in his mind chose that very moment to reminded him about how gorgeous Grantaire was, and how absolutely captivating his eyes were and... 

No. 

Also, Grantaire had been drunk. Chances were that Enjolras wasn't the only one feeling regret over this. Just because someone seemed to be infatuated with him didn't give him the right to take advantage of the situation. 

“Oh, God, I am such an ass,” Enjolras mumbled to the room at large, covering his face with his hands. 

And his head still hurt. Maybe he just shouldn't leave his apartment for the remainder of the week, just to give his head a chance to shrink back to its normal size, and also to not have to face Grantaire for the next few days. Or anyone, for that matter. 

Unfortunately, Enjolras' sense of duty was of about equal size as his head was at the moment, which is why he found himself shouldering through the door of his afternoon ethics class, his notebook in one hand and a cup of Starbucks in the other. The damn queue had been so long that he was about 15 minutes late, which earned him a pointed and slightly confused look from the professor, because Enjolras was never late. But well, this was one of those situations where coffee was more important than upholding one's reputation. 

“I thought you'd died or something,” Courfeyrac whispered as Enjolras dropped down in the seat next to him. “You never miss a lecture. I remember that one time where you were coughing so loud the professor actually threw you out.” Courfeyrac gave him one of his patented cheeky-cute grins. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Enjolras grumbled, opening his notebook with a scowl. 

Anyone else would have been dissuaded from attempting further conversation by this, but Courfeyrac wasn't anyone else. 

“So I take it Grantaire drank you under the table?” Courfeyrac continued cheerfully, clearly not very interested in the finer points of Kantian ethics. “And you crawled home on your hands and knees?”

“No one crawled anywhere,” Enjolras hissed, giving Courfeyrac a dirty look. Not because Courfeyrac was being annoying, which he was, but because Enjolras had considerably more problems with pushing the image of Grantaire on his knees out of his mind than he would have liked. He made a mental note to not sit next to Courfeyrac the next time he had drunken sex with Grantaire. ...not that he planned on there being a next time. 

“Still, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Courf. If I'd wanted your opinion on my appearance, I would've asked for it.”

“Whoa. Testy.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at him, looking taken aback.

Enjolras sighed. “Sorry. I've got the worst headache I've ever had in my whole life, and this coffee is the first thing that's gone into my stomach today.”

“You should get some hangover remedies from Combeferre, then. Do you want an aspirin?” Courfeyrac rummaged in his bag and emerged with a triumphant grin and a half-empty blister pack of painkillers. 

“No, thanks, I'm probably two over my daily limit already.” Enjolras leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And all I'm going to get from 'ferre is a talk about how alcohol isn't good for your brain cells. As if I didn't know that, after today.”

“Well, then ask Grantaire. I bet he knows all of them.”

“No!” Apparently, he had said that louder than he had intended, since everyone in a five-seat radius around him was suddenly looking at him. 

Courfeyrac gave him a strange look, then shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”

Enjolras spent the rest of the lecture nursing his coffee and wishing he would die already. At least he wouldn't have to see Grantaire again until the next meeting, seeing how they didn't take any of the same courses and generally moved in different social circles. 

Come to think of it, Enjolras had no idea about what social circles Grantaire usually moved in, aside from the Amis. He didn't know much about the guy at all, apart from that he was an annoying, nihilistic little shit who drank too much. And drew really good pictures. If it hadn't been so borderline creepy, Enjolras would have felt flattered by the portraits Grantaire had drawn of him. Grantaire had made him look positively angelic. Did he really look like that? Or maybe he just looked like that to Grantaire? If someone had asked him, Enjolras would have guessed that Grantaire would draw him more like a caricature of the devil, seeing how they constantly got into arguments over the smallest things. 

And why the hell was he thinking about Grantaire instead of taking notes? This had to stop. Immediately. What he needed was some distraction. 

Enjolras pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping away.

_Feel like watching a movie tonight?_

Not even three minutes later, Combeferre's reply appeared on the screen. 

_Depends on the movie. How's your head?_

_Better._ Which was the biggest lie ever, but well. _IDK. Whatever Netflix has to offer._

_...I should be studying..._

Well, that wasn't an outright “no”. Enjolras could work with that.

_Please? I need some distraction. I'll even allow you to tell me how stupid I was to get wasted._

He had almost typed in “with Grantaire”, but decided against it at the last moment.

_As if I needed your permission for that. OK. I'll be over at 7._

–

Combeferre, in his endless wisdom, had shown up at Enjolras' door with Chinese takeout and a packet of microwave popcorn.

“I figured you probably haven't eaten anything yet.”

“I did have a blueberry muffin,” Enjolras said, trying to sound put-upon despite his grateful smile. 

“Baked goods don't count.” Combeferre stepped inside and deposited the food on the couch table. “Trust me, I'm a doctor.”

“Not yet,” Enjolras remarked as he sat down and took a look inside the boxes. 

“Well, I don't have to be a proper doctor to tell you that you eat too little.” Combeferre chuckled: “And drink too much.”

“That was one time!”

“I was talking about coffee, my friend. You are to coffee what Grantaire is to booze.” 

“Can we please not talk about Grantaire,” Enjolras grumbled. “Or about yesterday evening.”

Combeferre gave him a curious look before picking up a pair of chopsticks and a box. “Somehow, I think there's more going on here than I'm aware of. Do you want to talk about it?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh: “Later.” 

They ate more or less in silence before spending some time discussing which movie to watch. Or rather, which movie to pick to make distracting noises in the background while they talked, because with Comebeferre, movie night always turned into discussion night sooner or later. 

“So,” his friend said about half an hour into the movie, turning away from the screen to look at Enjolras, “what is it you didn't want to talk about just now?” 

“...what happened yesterday.” Enjolras' eyes were still glued to the screen, mostly to avoid having to look at Combeferre. He wasn't sure he could take the look that his friend would surely be giving him once he revealed the sordid details. 

“Well, yes, getting drunk wasn't the best idea you've had,” Combeferre said, moving around a bit to try to catch Enjolras' eye even if Enjolras was doing his damndest to avoid just that. “But in the end, everyone has done something stupid like that one time or the other. So don't beat yourself up about it too much.” There was a short pause: “Or are we talking about something else here?”

Enjolras leaned back into the couch, letting his head fall back until he was looking straight at the ceiling, and rubbed his hands over his face. Christ, how did one put this? In the end, he decided on the brutally straightforward approach. Better get it over with. 

“Grantaire and I had sex.”

There was a pause that seemed to stretch into infinity. Enjolras looked at Combeferre from the corners of his eyes. Yes, his friend was about as shocked as he would have thought, gaping at him as if Enjolras had just confessed to being an axe murderer. 

Sighing, Enjolras turned to face Combeferre, but still avoided looking at him directly. “We were both drunk, and... well, he seems to be really into me, and then I was kissing him and he was going down on me. It just... happened.”

“Enjolras, sex doesn't just happen. Especially not with you.” Combeferre sighed, shaking his head as if he was trying to shake off a bad dream. “Also, of course he's into you.”

“And how would you know that? That Grantaire's into me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Enj, everybody knows. He's been mooning over you ever since the first meeting he attended.” Combeferre smirked: “You're just too oblivious to notice.”

Enjorlas scowled. “Thanks for not telling me before.”

Combeferre shrugged and gave Enjolras an amused smile, settling back into the couch. “As if you could've handled that piece of information. I know you. I've known you since grade school. You would've freaked out and done your best to avoid him henceforth.” He reached for his glass and took a sip. “So, what are you going to do now?”

Enjolras groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch again. “I'm not sure. I should probably talk to him.”

“Oh, you definitely should do that.”

“I just don't know how. Any ideas?” Enjolras turned his head, giving Combeferre a lost, beseeching look.

“Well, I've never been in that kind of situation, but I'd say you need all the tact and diplomacy you can muster. Read, don't treat him like you usually do,” Combeferre said with a stern look at his friend. 

“...I feel like the greatest asshole in existence.” Enjolras gave a deep sigh and let himself collapse against Combeferre.

Combeferre smiled, and gently patted Enjolras' head. “Don't worry, you're not. Grantaire can be the most annoying little shit ever, so I don't blame you for snapping at him a lot.”

“That's not what I'm talking about.” Enjolras bit his lip, his fingers pulling at a little piece of thread that was coming loose from the already threadbare couch. “I feel as if I've been taking advantage of the situation. Of him.”

For a while, Combeferre didn't say anything, and Enjolras just continued picking at the thread, every second of silence causing him to feel more nervous. He knew that with Combeferre, he would be getting an honest opinion. That's why he liked 'ferre so much. This time, though, he wasn't sure he would like what he would hear.

Finally, Combeferre shrugged: “I don't know the details, so I won't be passing judgment in either direction. That's between you two to decide, since from what you've told me, the situation wasn't exactly clear-cut.”

“Hm.” Enjolras frowned. This wasn't exactly helping, even though he knew Combeferre was right.

Combeferre chuckled, a low hum that vibrated through Enjolras' body. “Still uncomfortable with the little shades of gray of life, are we?”

Enjolras gave Combeferre's thigh a short cuff with his fist: “I never understood why you didn't study philosophy, Mister Wins-Every-Discussion.”

He could hear Combeferre's smirk without having to look up. “As much as I enjoy making you uncomfortable, I'd rather do something that genuinely helps people.”

“Well, if you want to help, pass me my phone, would you?” Enjolras made a grabbing motion at his smartphone, which was lying just out of his reach on the table. Combeferre picked it up and handed it over to him. 

Enjolras thumbed through his contacts until he'd found Grantaire's number.  
 _We need to talk. Coffee tomorrow? After classes, let's say around 4._

He was surprised at how fast the answer buzzed in.  
 _Sure. Meet at the Musain?_

Enjolras pulled a face.  
 _I'd rather not. Not enough privacy._

_OK. There's a little bistro on the corner of 5th and June. Let's meet there._

_I'll be there._


	3. We need to talk about last night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras takes up Combeferre's advice and talks to Grantaire, which turns out to be even harder than he had thought it would be.

As usual – except, as he had recently discovered, when he had a hangover – Enjolras was there early, which he really wouldn't need to have been, since Grantaire was always late. His fingers were drumming on the table in something that wasn't even close to a rhythm, and he kept checking his phone, both for the time and to see if Grantaire had sent a text. Maybe Grantaire wouldn't be able to show up after all, and Enjolras would get another day to collect his thoughts. Which would actually have been a good thing, seeing how he couldn't seem to decide on if he was dreading talking to Grantaire, or actually looking forward to it. 

Finally, Grantaire sauntered into the Bistro and flopped down into the chair opposite of Enjolras: “Hey.”

“Hello, Grantaire. Thank you for meeting up with me.”

There was a silence that stretched far too long, until Grantaire gave Enjolras a smirk: “So it is as I'd feared. This is the awkward conversation about how we had drunk sex. Which you now regret. Am I right?”

Enjolras sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, letting his gaze wander around the room, which was, thank God, only half full with customers. This place probably got busier in the evening. Finally, he nodded, looking at Grantaire from the corners of his eyes. This really was the worst situation he had ever been in. Even worse than the one time his father had actually had to come down to the police station to bail him out on charges of destruction of public property. Which had actually only been accidental destruction of public property. 

“Well, I don't know if it helps or not,” Grantaire went on, his voice growing quiet and surprisingly sincere for someone whose main characteristic seemed to be the ability to snark anything, anyone, anytime, “but I don't. Regret it. The only thing I do regret is that we were both drunk.”

Enjolras bit his lip and finally managed to look at Grantaire: “Yes. I'm sorry about that. About taking advantage of you.” 

“Take advantage of me?” Grantaire gave a quiet laugh and shook his head. Pushing back the curls that had fallen into his forehead, he looked at Enjolras with fond amusement: “You haven't been listening, have you? I. Don't. Regret. It. And you didn't take advantage of me. You gave me what I've been wanting for months.” Grantaire dropped his gaze, his expression sad, almost hurt: “Only it doesn't really count for shit, since you were drunk and think it was a mistake. Because how could a guy like you ever not think that having anything with a guy like me was a mistake. I know you hate me.”

The expression on Grantaire's face and the tone of his voice made something inside Enjolras' chest clench, and before he could stop himself he blurted out: “I don't hate you. It's just...” he gestured with his hand, grasping for the right words. “You don't seem to believe in anything. To you, everything is one big joke.”

“I believe in you.” The expression on Grantaire's face was the most serious Enjolras had ever seen him wear, and for a moment, it stopped all of his thoughts in their tracks, making him forget the words he had still wanted to say. 

“Did you ever stop to wonder why I come to the meetings, Enjolras?” Grantaire was still looking straight at Enjolras, but his finger was scratching over the surface of the table in an unconsciously nervous gesture. “You didn't seriously believe it was because I had nothing better to do.”

“Well, you're friends with Courfeyrac...” 

“Yes, but we can hang out enough without me trudging along to something I don't give a damn about.” Grantaire took a deep breath and let it out with a short sigh. “The first meeting, yes, I just tagged along with Courfeyrac. He practically dragged me along. Still, I wanted to see what he was getting so excited about. And then I saw you.” 

Grantaire dropped his gaze, his finger still picking at the table. “I don't believe in ideas or ideals, like Courf or you. Ideals are a dime a dozen, they're about as solid as the wind, but people? I can believe in people. And you, you're...” 

Grantaire stopped and ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. Looking up at Enjolras again, he continued: “You're like the sun. You just step up there, and you shine. When you're talking, everyone else listens, because it's impossible not to. And whenever I see you, you just outshine everyone else, until I can see nothing else but you.” 

Grantaire bit his lip, shaking his head slightly: “Do you even know how scary that is? And then I try to somehow dim your light, because I'm afraid that otherwise, it will blind me.” 

It wasn't often that Enjolras didn't know what to say, but Grantaire's words had hit him so hard that for a moment, he had even forgotten to breathe. The only thing he could do was stare mutely at Grantaire, trying to mentally digest the immensity of what Grantaire had said. 

Finally, after a moment of silence that seemed to stretch far too long, Enjolras simply said: “...so you really are in love with me.”

Grantaire smirked: “I thought we'd established that when I was on my knees in front of you. Yes, I'm in love with you.” Grantaire stood up: “But don't worry, I never expected it to be reciprocated. I might be a useless drunk, in your eyes, but I'm not stupid. Goodbye, Enjolras.” With that, Grantaire rapped his knuckles on the table and walked out of the bistro without another look at Enjolras.

–

Grantaire didn't show up at the next meeting, nor at the one after that. Everyone noticed, but no one seemed to worry about it much, except for Courfeyrac, who occasionally let his eyes wander from the place Grantaire usually sat to the door, as if expecting Grantaire to walk in, just being late as usual. Once or twice, his gaze crossed with Enjolras', who was also stealing stealthy glances in the same direction. 

Enjolras hadn't talked with anyone about what had happened at the bistro, not even with Combeferre. This was something he had to figure out himself. First of all, he had to figure out why exactly he thought there was something to figure out. So Grantaire loved him. So Grantaire didn't show up any more. So what? 

But it wasn't like Grantaire to shy away from any kind of confrontation. Enjolras would have expected him to still be there, challenging him with well-timed words, even to have Grantaire step up his game a bit after what had happened. You could say about Grantaire what you wanted, but one thing Enjolras had never seen the other man do was shy away from a challenge, especially not if the challenge presenting itself was Enjolras. Hell, Enjolras needed at least two hands to count the times where Grantaire had actually bested him in verbal combat. Grantaire had said that to him, Enjolras was like the sun. Well, he had never seemed too afraid of getting burned, but then again, he had never been that close to Enjolras before. 

\--

And so it came to pass that the next Saturday morning, Enjolras found himself standing in front of the door to Grantaire's apartment, giving it a hesitant rap. 

“...okay, give me a minute,” came a muffled voice from inside, and a few moments later, the door was opened to reveal Grantaire, wearing a pair of threadbare jeans and a t-shirt, his hair in a mess and his face covered in what had to be at least a three-day stubble. Enjolras had to push away an intrusive thought about how that actually looked quite hot. 

Grantaire's eyes narrowed in suspicion: “What do you want? I thought we'd said everything there was to say.”

“Well,” Enjolras began, unsure of how to do this, hell, unsure of why he even was here, “you didn't show up for the last few meetings, so...” he trailed off with a gesture that said absolutely nothing.

Grantaire cocked his head to the side. “I thought that would make you happy. Not having me at the back heckling you any more.”

“Actually, it had me worried,” Enjolras confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You were worried about me?” Grantaire's smile was unreadable, stuck somewhere between sardonic amusement and actual delight. “Well, I never would have thought.” There was a short pause. “So, now that you've seen that I'm actually not dead or in a drunken stupor – not any more, at least – is there something else I can do for you?”

Enjolras frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Why was this so difficult? Usually, he had no trouble speaking his mind. In fact, speaking his mind was what usually got him into trouble. 

“I'd like to talk to you. About... you know.”

Grantaire sighed, then stepped aside with a flourish: “Come in. Have a seat, if you can find one.”

Amongst the hazy memories Enjolras had about that fateful night when he had first come here – both in the innocent and the not so innocent sense – was the utter chaos of books, sketching materials and clothes Grantaire's room had been in. Apparently, that one was a memory that had actually not been altered by the booze. 

Grantaire's room really did look like the library of a madman. There were stacks of books everywhere. On the floor, on the tables, on every available surface. Mixed into them were sketchbooks, pencils, and other things Enjolras had no clue about what they were. 

Enjolras, being the naturally curious person that he was, couldn't help but tilt his head and look at the spines of the stack of books that was sitting on the chair he was planning to occupy in a few seconds. A wild mix of worn-down paperback novels, two books on art history, something on Jungian psychology, and the Communist Manifesto. Wow. He really needed to pick apart Grantaire's mind at some point. Soon. Figuratively speaking, of course. 

Carefully shifting the assorted literature from the chair to the floor, Enjolras sat down. Now came the hard part. The part where he, at some subconscious level, knew what he wanted to say, but wasn't quite sure as to how. 

Enjolras took a deep breath: “I want to get to know you better.” Grantaire opened his mouth to speak, undoubtedly something snarky, judging from his expression, but Enjolras held up a hand to stop him: “What you said when we met up, it got me thinking. I never knew you felt that way about me, yes, but that's not the point.”

“And what is the point, then?”

“The point is that I think, no, I'm pretty sure that I misjudged you. All this time. You said that you wanted, needed to dim my light. And that is what got me thinking. Mostly about how you're the only one who has actually ever managed to do that.” 

Enjolras gave Grantaire a self-conscious little smirk and went on: “You're infuriating, Grantaire, but not because you're simply annoying. I've been in debates with a lot of simply annoying people, and they never manage to get to me the way you do. You get to me because you actually have a point, most of the time.” He looked down at his hands, out of the window, and then back at Grantaire: “When I'm off course, when I'm riding too high on my lofty ideals and great plans for bringing about change, Combeferre, he's the one who takes me by the hand and pulls me back in the right direction. Metaphorically speaking, of course,” Enjolras added hastily. 

Grantaire chuckled at that: “I wouldn't be surprised if he also literally did that.”

Enjolras sighed. That was pure Grantaire, right there. “Anyway. You... you're the guy who shoots holes in my ideas, who pulls some of the blocks out and makes me realize that maybe, just maybe, there is actually another side to this, or a better way of approaching it. Yes, yes,” he said, once again holding up his palm to catch any objections Grantaire might have, “it probably doesn't look that way during meetings, because all I can think of at the spur of the moment is snap at you, but believe me, I've gone home and actually come up with a better idea than the previous one more than once, all because of one of your comments. And don't even get me started on what having an actual debate with you does to me.” Enjolras grimaced: “You're one of the few people who can actually tear me to shreds, if you want to.”

“Huh,” Grantaire said, seeming surprised. “I never noticed. I always thought you were the one who had come out the winner in all of our debates.”

Now it was Enjolras' turn to chuckle, and he smirked at Grantaire: “You have books on psychology lying around here. You shouldn't be unfamiliar with the idea that arrogance is a good way to cover up defeat.”

“Wow. I would never have put you down as a sore loser.”

Enjolras just shrugged. 

“So. Will you permit me to get to know you? Preferably without the drunkenness?” He fixed his eyes on Grantaire's, trying to convey just how serious this was to him. 

Grantaire seemed to be thinking about what he had heard for quite a long time, long enough to make Enjolras nervous about how Grantaire was probably going to say no. 

Then, Grantaire gave a short nod: “Yes. I'd like that, for you to get to know me. Although the part about the drunkenness will be hard and a bit self-defeating, because I'm afraid that particular bad habit is a part of me.” Grantaire drew a breath, as if he had to prepare himself for what was to follow, and went on: “But, and this is important, this is going to be a two-sided thing. If I let you peep into my life and my soul, you're going to let me do the same. Just because I've been pining at you from afar for far too long now doesn't mean that I actually know you. Deal?”

“Deal.” Enjolras made a face: “I just hope you're not disappointed by what you see. I'm not some marble god, you know. I'm human, like everyone else.” 

“Who knows,” Grantaire said, looking at Enjolras with a soft gaze, “I might prefer you to be human.” 

There was a moment of silence which stretched long enough to become awkward. Enjolras leaned back in the chair, which made it creak alarmingly, and looked around at the chaos he was sitting in. “So. Where do we start?”

“I have an idea. Do you like art?”

“Hm,” Enjolras said, weighing his head, “to be honest, I've only ever been to an art gallery once or twice.”

“Then it's high time we changed that. You and I are going on a date. ...outing. Outing.” Grantaire corrected himself hastily, because they were not dating, no, they were just getting to know each other. “To the museum. I'm going to show you my favorite pieces. And then I'm going to show you my least favorite ones, and we can snark them.”

Enjolras had to grin at that last bit. That, again, was so Grantaire. “Sounds good.”

“Okay, then. Just give me some time to take a shower and get dressed and stuff.” Grantaire got up from the bed and began rummaging around for clothes. “You just stay put. And don't touch anything. It might bite.”

“Well, what am I to do while you're away taking a shower?” Enjolras was decidedly not listening to the little voice at the back of his head that suggested he jerk off to the idea of Grantaire standing naked underneath the shower. 

Grantaire grabbed a book from one of the piles and thrust it at Enjolras: “Here, read this.”

“...Alice in Wonderland?”

“Don't diss the classics, man. Be right back.”


	4. Let's start from scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire get to know each other, and actually like what they see.

After they had spent a good two and a half hours browsing through the museum, Enjolras and Grantaire ended up in the museum's small cafe, where Enjolras finally got his much needed fix of caffeine. 

“So, tell me, how do you feel about art now?” Grantaire said before stuffing a fork full of brownie into his mouth.

Enjolras grinned: “Educated. Going here with you is definitely more fun than going alone. Or with anyone else I've ever been to an art exhibit. Not that I have much experience there, like I mentioned.”

“Glad to be of service.” Grantaire's eyes twinkled with a kind of sardonic amusement: “Let it be known that I'm not completely useless, or dispassionate.”

Enjolras flinched inwardly. Was that really how Grantaire thought Enjolras' opinion of him looked like? That Grantaire was useless? If that was true, he had done more damage than he had ever intended to do. Not that he was entirely unknown for sometimes letting his passion come before his compassion.

“I'm sorry about that. About giving you the impression that I thought you were useless,” Enjolras said in a quiet voice.

Grantaire shrugged: “To be honest, I'm not sure if you really gave me that impression, or if I just read you that way since I'm pretty familiar with people having low opinions of me. You might've noticed that my self-esteem and emotional state isn't all that stable. It's why I fall into a bottle now and then. And yeah, I know that's pretty counter-productive, but what can I say?”

All of that had been said in a flat, almost emotionless tone, and it made Enjolras want to grab Grantaire and shake him until all those thoughts of his inadequacy fell out. What was even worse was that Enjolras knew that he had planted some of them there, or was at least responsible for making them grow. So maybe instead of grabbing Grantaire, he should rather kick himself. 

Instead, Enjolras reached over the table to grab Grantaire's hand. “You're not useless, do you hear me? You're talented, educated and smart. I mean, did you listen to that part this morning when I told you that you can out-argue me? That's really not something everyone can do. So stop putting yourself down.” He bit his lip, looking down at the table for a moment before fixing his eyes on Grantaire's again: “And I promise I'll stop putting you down.”

For a second, Enjolras was sure that he saw something like hope and thankfulness in Grantaire's eyes, but then Grantaire gave him one of his trademark smirks: “I don't believe in making promises I can't keep. But,” the smirk faltered, turning into a tentative smile, “I can promise to try.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire's hand a squeeze before pulling back again. 

“So,” Grantaire said, leaning back in his chair with his usual nonchalant air, “what's next? What does our fearless leader do in his free time? And please don't say “study” because I'd be really disappointed if you turned out to be the cliche everyone always assumes you are.”

Enjolras chuckled and downed the last of his double espresso. “Do they really? Well, that everyone obviously doesn't include 'ferre, Courfeyrac or Jehan, since they play Dungeons and Dragons with me every Tuesday.”

“You? D&D?” Grantaire's eyebrows went up so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. “Wow. Closeted nerd, are we?” Then he grinned: “I bet you're the dungeon master, control freak that you are.”

“I'm not a control freak!” Enjolras had tried for shocked, but it came out as a sputter that ended in a laugh: “But you're right with both. You found out my dark secret.” He grinned, and gave Grantaire a wink: “Well, one of them anyway.”

“I'm looking forward to finding out more of them.”

“Careful,” Enjolras said, looking down at his hands for a moment before giving Grantaire a half-smile, “it might destroy your lofty image of me.”

Grantaire returned his smile: “Oh, don't worry. It's the little flaws that make the rest more beautiful.”

From the tone of Grantaire's voice, Enjolras knew that the words had been said only half in jest, and it made an unaccustomed but not entirely unwelcome warmth rise in him. Still, he got up almost hastily: “Um, right. Are you going to be at the meeting tonight?”

Grantaire regarded him with a hopeful gaze, tilting his head to the side a little. “Do you want me to?”

Enjolras almost blurted out “of course!”, but bit his tongue at the last moment, the impulse subdued into a short nod: “Yes.”

“Then I'll be there.”

–

“This is supposed to be a horror movie, right?” Grantaire whispered, leaning over the armrest towards Enjolras. 

“I guess so,” Enjolras whispered back, smirking. “But the only horrible thing about it up until now is the horrible boredom I'm feeling.”

Grantaire snickered, which caused the person behind them to make a shushing hiss.

Going to the cinema to see the sneak preview was an almost hallowed tradition amongst some of the group. “Together in joy and suffering,” as Courfeyrac had said. This time, it had been Enjolras who had invited Grantaire along. They were sharing a bucket of popcorn and definitely suffering. 

Grabbing a handful of popcorn, Enjolras spent the next few minutes trying to flick the pieces up into the air and catching them with his mouth, failing more often than not. 

“Hey, Enjolras,” Grantaire hissed, elbowing him gently, “here!”. He grinned, pointing to his open mouth. 

Enjolras chuckled, and threw some popcorn in the general direction of Grantaire's mouth. The first throw was a success, but the second went too far and landed on Bahorel's lap instead. 

“God, you two are being such teenagers,” Bahorel grumbled before leaning over to Joly and whispering something in Joly's ear that made the other man giggle. 

Grantaire and Enjolras turned back to the screen, but the tiny glimmer of hope that the movie might have improved over the last few minutes was squashed immediately. 

“Oh, wow,” Enjolras remarked, not even bothering to whisper, “the inbred mutants eat people. How utterly original.”

There was another, more insistent “shhhhh!” from the back row this time, and Combeferre leaned over towards Enjolras, shaking his head: “I can see Grantaire's rubbing off on you.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire snickered, “I'm so proud of him. I'm going to make a proper heckler of him yet, you just wait and see!”

“Would you guys just shut up?!?” came an annoyed voice from behind, causing Bahorel to turn around in its direction and glare, which, admittedly, didn't have the usual effect the trademarked Bahorel-glare-of-doom usually had, probably because it was too dark to see the glint in his eyes. 

The rest of the movie was spent in mutual, if a bit more subdued than before, heckling. It was a lot easier to appreciate Grantaire's sharp wit when it wasn't directed against him. Also, and this was the actual surprise to Enjolras, he was enjoying this for other reasons than pure shits and giggles. It was nice to sit so close to Grantaire, to have Grantaire whispering to him, lips so close that they were almost touching Enjolras' ear. It almost made him shiver. Really, it was high time he sat down and dissected all these strange and somewhat contradictory feelings he was having.

Enjolras was so lost in these thoughts that he almost missed the end of the movie, but Grantaire's sigh of “Thank god it's over!” brought him out of his musings. 

They filed out of the cinema, Bahorel stretching his arms over his head and yawning expansively. “You know, Enj and R are right. This movie was horrible. And I usually like this kind of stuff. So, who's with me on purging that awful bit of crap from our minds with the help of my friend alcohol?” He turned towards Grantaire and grinned: “I'm counting on you, buddy.” 

“Sure thing.”

When everyone else nodded their agreement, Grantaire turned to Enjolras: “What about you? I mean, I don't want you having bad dreams about being chased through the woods by a horribly stereotypical inbred hillbilly.” 

Enjolras bit his lip: “I'm not sure. I think I'm done with alcohol for the rest of my life since... well, you know.” He shot Grantaire a glance. 

“Oh, come on, Enjolras.” Grantaire tilted his head and gave Enjolras what had to be the second-worst puppy dog eyes since Courfeyrac had talked Enjolras into sleeping at Combeferre's because he wanted to impress his current lady friend on what was traditionally Marius' and Cosette's date night, which meant that the couch in their shared apartment would already be occupied by a necking couple. 

“You don't have to drink booze. You can keep to ginger ale if you want to.” Grantaire batted his eyelashes: “Pretty please? For me?”

God damn him. This really didn't make Enjolras' confused feelings and less confused. Especially since he really wanted to go along and spend some more time sitting next to Grantaire, cracking jokes and talking about everything under the sun.

“All right, then,” Enjolras said with a sigh. “But only if you promise to keep to non-alcoholic beverages, too.” 

“Harsh,” Courfeyrac cut in, raising his eyebrows. Then he grinned: “What's it going to be, R? Booze or Enjolras' company?”

“I'll take door number two, please,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras a smile and a wink.

Enjolras swallowed, and looked away, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Shit. It wasn't as if Grantaire hadn't flirted with him before, but now it was actually getting to him.

But before anyone could notice the color in his cheeks, Combeferre had thrown an arm around Enjolras' shoulders, pulling him along: “Well, then. Let's get going, before our table at the Musain is taken.”

Enjolras gave him a thankful smile. If there was one person he could always count on in a situation like this, it was Combeferre.

–

Three days later, and Enjolras still hadn't done his sitting down and thinking about the Grantaire situation. But then, he told himself, he had more important things to think about than his confused feelings. 

“You know,” the object of his confusion was just saying, “those ideas are OK, but I think I have a better one.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, raising an eyebrow: “Yes?”

“Why confine ourselves to staying on the fringes, when we could be annoying them from the inside? You know, go sit in there, ask the difficult questions.” Grantaire grinned: “I bet they would hate that.”

“That's a good idea. In theory.” Enjolras smirked: “Unfortunately, we've got a bit of a... reputation. So I doubt they would let any of us inside. They'd turn us away right at the door.”

“Objection, your honor. They know you. And, well, most of the others here,” Graintaire said, waving a hand around. Then, his grin turned positively devilish: “But they don't know me. I've kept a low profile so far. I was there, but not as prominently as you, or 'ferre or Courfeyrac. So I think I'd manage to sneak past the bullies they'll put at the door.”

Enjolras regarded Grantaire thoughtfully, eyes narrowed a bit. Then, his face broke into a smile: “That might work. And well, you're good at when it comes to asking the difficult questions. And of course annoying people.”

“Everyone has their talents,” Grantaire chuckled. “These are mine, and I shall gladly put them to use for the good of the cause.”

“Jehan could go with him,” Combeferre threw in. “Everybody knows the articles he writes, but most people have no idea what he actually looks like.”

“The drawbacks of being famous for one's words alone.” Jehan gave an overdramatic sigh. “But alas, it's the fate of being a writer.” Then, he nodded: “I'm in.”

“Great,” Grantaire beamed, “I've always wanted to be an undercover agent. Do we get these little earpieces?”

“No,” Enjolras said with a fond shake of the head. “But do you think you could smuggle in some kind of recorder? It would be amazing to have some sound bites.”

“Sure thing, M.”

–

Operation Waldorf and Stattler – Grantaire had come up with that name, because every secret operation had to have a cool name, obviously – had been a huge success. Everything had gone swimmingly. Grantaire had managed to both smuggle in a digital recorder and make the speakers boil in their own sweat with sharp questions, and Jehan had had his article already halfway written before they had even left the scene. Or rather, had been made to leave, since, according to Grantaire, they had been complimented outside by two rather menacing-looking men after his third question. Still, they had enough material for a well planned and armed counterstrike. 

“This calls for a celebration!” Bahorel suggested enthusiastically, and everyone had been in agreement. 

When the first round of beer had arrived, everyone raised their bottles. “To a successful undercover operation, its mastermind Grantaire and his fearless lieutenant Jehan,” Enjolras proclaimed to a round of applause and cheers. 

Sitting down next to Grantaire, Enjolras gave him a smile: “So, it seems like you're starting to believe in our cause after all.”

Grantaire just grinned: “Don't be so sure about that. I'm still on the fence re: committing to the revolution, but I'll gladly follow you into the abyss, as you know. If you're cool with that.” The last bit had been said with the same lightheartedness as the rest, but there was something in Grantaire's eyes that made it clear that there was something quite a bit more serious behind those words. 

Enjolras knew exactly what that implied subject was, and to his own surprise, he didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable with it any more. Quite on the contrary. The thought that Grantaire was here because of him, because he loved Enjolras...

Before Enjolras even knew that he was doing it, he leaned forward until his face was only inches away from Grantaire's and smiled. “I'm absolutely okay with that.” 

Then, he closed the small gap between them, pressing his lips against Grantaire's. After two seconds of silent shock, Grantaire kissed him back, his fingers running into Enjolras' hair. 

It was only when he registered the jeers that Enjolras pulled back, looking around at his friends with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “What? Never seen two guys kiss before?”

“Oh, sure,” Courfeyrac laughed, “we're just happy that it's you two. Finally. I mean, the unresolved sexual tension that was floating around the room the last few weeks was getting a bit uncomfortable for the rest of us.”

“Oh, shut it, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “I know you were enjoying every minute of it. The only thing you love more than sexual tension between your friends is sexual tension between you and whoever you've set your eyes on this time.”

“Why, Grantaire!” Courfeyrac raised a hand to his chest, making a show of looking shocked. “Are you calling me a slut?”

“I'd never dare. You're just the patron saint of free love.”

Enjolras shook his head with a chuckle. “If you two are done, I'd like to have your lips back, R.” 

“Your wish is my command, oh Captain.” With that, Grantaire dove on for another kiss, making it a lot deeper and more passionate than the one before.

“Jeez, you two,” Enjolras heard Jehan say, “get a room!”

Breaking away, Grantaire gave Jehan a naughty grin: “Oh, we have rooms. And if you don't need Enjolras any more, I think I'll abscond there with our fearless leader.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire a light punch in the shoulder: “You can abscond on your own if you don't stop that fearless leader shit.”

“Barely together and already they're fighting,” Courfeyrac giggled. “I can see you're going to be a great couple.”

“What was that Grantaire said just now?” Enjolras said, making a show out of trying to remember. “Oh yes. Shut it, Courfeyrac.” Then, he took Grantaire's hand and pulled him out of his chair. “Come on. Let's leave them to their silly games.”

“Gladly.” Grantaire got up and slung an arm around Enjolras' waist, pulling him to his side. “Au revoir, my friends,” he said, and threw the group a grin over his shoulder, “and don't wait up for us.” Leaning over to Enjolras, he whispered against his ear: “So, how about an encore of that other, fateful nigh?”

“Gladly. But this time, I'm going to insist on having more than a passive part in it.”

Grantaire pressed his lips against Enjolras' neck: “As I said, your wish is my command.”


End file.
